Lighting the Fire
by X-Kali-X
Summary: All fires begin with a spark, smouldering in the dark. As the spark built, all it needed was the right people in the right place at the right time, and a symbol to let them know that this was it... Oneshot.


Madge had been ready. She'd known it was coming for years, had been told that it was the best way – so many people had told her, spoken to her in quiet moments when they should have been talking to her father about "official capitol business." He could never know, they would say, might not understand.

They'd given her the pin only a week before the reaping, and at last she knew it was time. She was sixteen, and the statement had to be made, the spark had to be set. She closed her fingers about the small bird and swallowed, nodding in acknowledgement.

Being the mayor's daughter had never been a disadvantage. She had no tesserae, had even been given some private training in self-defence and how to survive by a couple of the peace keepers on the chance that her name was selected – she liked Darius the most. He made her laugh.

When Gale called her out on her luck the morning of the reaping, Madge knew that what she was doing was right. She didn't have to survive, didn't have to be the victor. She just had to stay alive long enough that they'd remember her, be alive long enough that she could make an impression.

When Prim had been selected, Madge had seen the terror on the little girl's face and was reassured once more that this was the right thing. Prim was only twelve, and Madge like Katniss, wouldn't want to see that tiny family wracked with any more pain.

And then Katniss had volunteered, had sent Prim away howling in defiance. Katniss had stood there and answered Effie's questions even as Madge gaped at her. Effie did not ask for any more volunteers. Madge's fingers tightened around the pin. Could Katniss do it? She was strong, stronger than she was. Katniss was a fighter.

* * *

"Is she wearing the pin?" Portia asked, leaning forward and squinting at the screen. Cinna pressed a button on the remote and the screen zoomed in.

"No," he replied, even as the tribute gave her name. It was not Madge Undersee, not the girl Plutarch had told them it would be, but still… there was something about this girl. Something special.

* * *

"They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena." Katniss had to take it, had to wear it. If Madge was sure of anything, it was that Katniss was stronger than she was. "One thing to remind you of home. Will you wear this?"

"Your pin?" she asked. Katniss looked confused. _It's not my pin_, Madge wanted to shout at her. _It's the pin they gave me, and you have to have it, have to wear it._

"Here, I'll put it on your dress, all right?" Madge didn't wait for an answer, but fixed the golden Mockingjay to Katniss' dress. "Promise you'll wear it into the arena, Katniss?" she asks. "Promise?"

"Yes," she said, looking into Madge's eyes. For a moment, she looked as though she might cry, but Katniss Everdeen was made of stronger stuff than that.

* * *

"There it is," Cinna said, his eyes fixed on the golden bird pinned just beneath Katniss' collar. "The mockingjay."

"Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire," Portia said, leaning back. "It does have a certain ring to it."

* * *

Haymitch blinked down at the knife the girl had slammed into the table. He frowned and looked up at her, his eyes sliding from her eyes to the small golden pin. "Well, he said. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" _Did I get a mockingjay this year?_

He'd heard the talk, the whispers, but he'd never paid any attention, never believed they'd actually be mad enough to try, but then he'd been proven wrong before. Certainly he hadn't expected their precious symbol to be a girl from the seam. She wasn't even that attractive, he thought sourly.

Yet.

And so he gave them their second piece of serious advice. They already knew to stay alive, but now… more importantly… "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But," she began.

"No buts. Don't resist."

* * *

She didn't wear the pin for the parade, but that didn't matter. All eyes are upon the pair of them, the capitol anthem swelling around them as they leave the remake centre aflame, the brightest light even in the capitol, a flame that nothing could quench. They burned through Snow's speech, and people cheered their names as they rolled into the training centre, shouting them into the long hours of the morning, and quietly, someone whispered the name they came up with for her.

It didn't take long to filter through the mass of dolled up citizens. _Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire._

* * *

"She shot an arrow at us," someone shouted, slamming a fist down on the table. "That girl's trouble, too much attitude."

"Attitude's just what the games need," Plutarch objected. He still smells a little of punch, but he was still firmly on the girl's side. "She's a smart one. Could be this years star, if we do this right."

"She is good," Seneca acknowledged slowly. "At least, if she was aiming for that apple." Someone chuckled and Seneca scratched his beard thoughtfully. "She's certainly shown us she's not one to ignore. We can't justify giving her a low score for certain, five minutes in the arena would tell anyone that, I don't think she intends to lie low at all."

"So perhaps a higher score," Plutarch suggests seeing his chance. "Let her stand out – people will support her…"

"And the others will gun for her. I like it," Seneca nodded. "A good show, for certain."

"So a twelve?" someone asked.

"No," Seneca shook his head. "No one would take a twelve seriously, there'd be questions." There was a moment of silence. "How many elevens have there been since the first games?"

"Three," someone supplied.

"Well then, let's make that four."

* * *

"This is her weakness," Haymitch whispered to Cinna, staring at the stage as the tributes file into place. "This is where it'll all fall apart, mark my words."

Only it wasn't. She was nervous, but she did as her stylist told her. When she spins, the light show enraptures the easily pleased, followed by her moment of seriousness, a hint at what lay beneath as she spoke of Prim, her little sister back home.

"Just one thing missing," Cinna whispered back as she returned to her seat.

"Here it comes now," Haymitch replied, nodding towards the boy now taking his seat with Ceaser Flickerman. "It's not just her's gonna make the capitol sweat this year, you wait and see." Peeta Mellark begins his interview, and at last the wheels they've been pushing at for so long reach the top of the hill. All they really need now is one, good push.

* * *

Once she found water, Katniss was the very picture of a survivor. She sets traps, eats well and keeps well clear of others. Peeta steers the careers this way and that, leading them from her as best he can. Of course it couldn't work forever, but while it did it gave the capitol a chance to know them, to like them.

And the capitol loved them. They felt that they could relate to the star crossed lovers of district twelve. All the girls wanted someone as gentle as Peeta to protect them, and all the boys wanted someone as strong as Katniss who somehow still needed to be protected.

When Katniss dropped the tracker jackers, the sponsors went wild, they leap to pay for a salve, they beg to be chosen, but Haymitch knew better. The girl couldn't do anything with a gift while she was asleep, and she took the stings out. All she needed was time.

* * *

The little girl was unexpected. Rue, district 11. She would have made a good Mockingjay herself, many of the resistance thought as they watched on. Deep in district 13, president Coin almost wished she had been chosen. This Katniss was far too strong, far too independent. She was trouble Coin knew, and trouble did not fit in at all in the perfectly oiled mechanism of the rebellion.

Unexpected she might have been, but the message she sent was felt everywhere. It could have been nothing, could have been just another dead tribute, another body on the pile… but Katniss wouldn't allow that. As she sang, the mockingjays fell silent, listening to the tune, broken by tears as it was. The little girl reached up, her fingers caressing the small pin upon Katniss' breast. _"It was how I knew I could trust you,"_ she had whispered, a sentiment carried by many, across twelve of thirteen districts and even in the capitol itself.

_Look out for the mockingjay_. The message had been passed from mouth to mouth in all districts but one – the one overlooked by the capitol, weak and unlikely to rebel, a district of people who could do nothing but sit in the cold and mourn their lot.

But they had birthed a star, a shining bird with a loud, bright voice who was already pulling together the strings, unifying what should never have been split, and people knew to watch for her, knew that this was when it all began, even if they had not known what the words meant until that moment.

* * *

"Look out for the mockingjay," Finnick sighed, leaning back as he watched Katniss stagger to her feet. The girl on fire looked around as the mockingjays sang, and she picked flowers, weaving them into the little girls hair, crying softly as she did it. They didn't show the footage to the capitol or the districts, but the mentors saw the whole thing, and when they collected the body everyone could see and everyone knew who must have done it.

Finnick's own tributes were long dead, gone the day of the bloodbath at the cornucopia. He had told them to run, to do anything but stay by the golden horn. They had not listened, like so many before them.

He watched as Katniss walked away in silence, her tears gone and her face once more set. When the silver parachute settled before her, she made her thanks clear and saluted the residents of district 11. She pulled down her jacket, inadvertently causing the sunlight to flash briefly across the pin. Finnick might never have known exactly what the pin was had little Rue not mentioned it. The mockingjay, come at last.

* * *

Deep in 13, running footsteps echoed through control as Soldier Boggs arrived at the door to President Coins office. He knocked and was called inside. He merely had to say a single word, and the president knew exactly what he meant. "Eleven," he said, panting slightly.

The spark had been lit, and the wheels were turning as they began to move down the hill. Still, they were only slow and easily halted. There needed to be one last effort.

"Come on mockingjay," Coin whispered at the screen. "Show me how loud you can sing."

* * *

"No way they'll let that rule stick until the end," Haymitch said, eyes fixed on the screen.

"Probably not. They want her to compromise herself for him, don't they?" Cinna asks.

"I'd say so. And she'll do it – it's a problem of hers."

"If you insist," Cinna replied with a shrug. "It's quite admirable. People like that about her. Can we afford the medicine for him?"

"Of course we can't," Haymitch laughed. "We'd need the whole capitol on our side for that. No, district one has far too big a share of the sponsors for that."

* * *

"A feast?" Haymitch leant back in his chair, staring at the screen. Seneca Crane had never numbered among his favourite people, and was even further down the list now he was head gamemaker.

"A special feast – any one thing your tributes desperately need."

"Well I guess that'll have to be the boys medicine," Haymitch sighed. "Whose idea was that one?"

"Heavensbee," Seneca said with a nod, closing the connection.

"I thought as much," Haymitch said, shaking his head. He turned to Cinna, who was looking at him with calm eyes. "She'll assume that's what it is if they don't specifically mention it," Haymitch said, answering Cinna's unasked question and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "She'll go whether he wants her to or not."

"If she can get away from him," the stylist pointed out.

"Well, I think we can afford to help her with that at least."

* * *

The capitol went wild of course. _It was so romantic,_ they crooned over dinner, _so selfless,_ they gushed in the salon, _so utterly unexpected_, the told each other in the stores. Haymitch thought perhaps it might be unexpected if you didn't have two brain cells to rub together. Or a heart. Either/or really.

Thresh had been an unexpected ally. District 11 certainly weren't doing any harm for the star crossed lovers. Dying to allow them to be a team and sparing the girl on fire in the name and memory of the little girl who'd died so bravely.

Rue was a martyr already, but just how much of one she would be in the long run could not be predicted in the slightest.

* * *

"Two to go," Haymitch said grimly as the thin tribute was lifted by the hovercraft. The camera zoomed in on her face, still smeared with the dark juice of the berries that had killed her. Haymitch watched with narrowed eyes as Katniss slipped the poisonous fruits into a pouch she then slipped into a pocket.

* * *

As the sun rose on the cornucopia, Katniss loosed her last arrow, and finally only she and Peeta remained. The mutts retreated to the woods and slowly they headed to the still waters of the lake. The hovercraft came, Cato was removed, the announcement was made.

And the capitol wailed. Across the city, screens relayed the event live and people genuinely stopped what they were doing to stare in horror at the screen. People shouted and screamed at the revelation that Katniss and Peeta would not get their happily ever after. They cried for the pair – so stoic, so immeasurably strong!

When Katniss pulled out the berries, they became quiet, muttering and murmuring. When she gave half of them to Peeta, the city fell deathly silent.

People held their breaths, all eyes in every district glued to the screen. In eleven, the scenes played out above a ruined square swarming with peacekeepers in heavy white uniform.

In twelve, Prim and her mother held each other close in the small rickety house that was all they had to call home.

In the bakery, a thin scrawny woman looked to her husband with a sigh of sad resignation. "She's a survivor, that one," she said.

In the mayors house, Madge looked on, her eyes trained upon Katniss, her knees drawn up to her chin. She knew she had done the right thing, giving her the pin. No one would ever forget the girl on fire, would ever forget the mockingjay.

In the forest beyond the fence, Gale sat with his back to a tree, as he had since the previous morning. He didn't know what had happened yet, didn't know who was alive, but he refused to watch the games, refused to play by the capitol's rules.

In thirteen, the conference room in control was silent and still, the screen fixed upon Katniss' face. "Together?" Peeta asked.

"Together," Katniss confirmed, tipping her hand back.

Panic and confusion as Cladius Templesmith's voice boomed over the arena. The two tributes spat out the berries and ran to the water, rinsing out their mouths and collapsing into one another. The camera stayed on them as the hovercraft took them up from the arena, as Peeta collapsed and was pulled to one side and as Katniss beat upon the reinforced glass of the hovercraft door.

It was totally by chance, but as the camera faded, the last thing it caught was the gleam of a small gold pin.


End file.
